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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27362275">painted on the road, red and chrome</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/bareunloveliness/pseuds/bareunloveliness'>bareunloveliness</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Les Misérables - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Barricade Day, Barriere du Maine, Blood, Canon Era, Death, M/M, Unhappy Ending</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 16:11:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,016</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27362275</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/bareunloveliness/pseuds/bareunloveliness</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"Grantaire went out and was back in five minutes wearing a Robespierre waistcoat. 'Red,' he said, looking meaningfully at Enjolras."<br/>A story that answers three questions: why does Grantaire own such a horrible article of clothing, why did he have to go wear it that one time for the Barriere Du Maine, and why does Enjolras wear a red jacket in the first place?<br/>Title from Homemade Dynamite by Lorde</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>painted on the road, red and chrome</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>happy nanowrimo</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It was so easy to poke fun at that horrible coat. It was a burgundy color, and hugged his forearms the perfect amount. It gave him the regality of a king but the justice of a revolutionary- the balance necessary to bring skeptics onto the side of the believers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Enjolras wore it with a reserved pride that only humbly self-assured leaders held. He wasn't proud of himself, but of the men that he led, but he would be wrong to deny that he helped make them better men (thought it wasn't a fact he focused too intently on). What he didn't understand is when Grantaire wore it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not the same exact cloth, but a blend that was more readily available to those who were not born to rich parents. Grantaire's had copper buttons that threatened to fall off at any abrupt motions, but he did not wear the coat often. It was gaudy and loud and Grantaire understood that he had those qualities on his own, and didn't need a coat to earn attention. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had bought it as a joke, originally- you must believe him when he says so. He saw it, not in a window, but in the back of a second-hand shop. The owner was having trouble selling such a statement of a piece, and it wasn't exactly a popular statement in itself. Grantaire laughed to himself, and since none of his friends were around to see, he bought it for an extremely low price.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It hung in the back of his closet, not intended to see the light of day. Nobody would know, because they would all jump to conclusions. Jehan might call it romantic, but he didn't fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>buy it to be romantic</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He bought it because he thought it was funny. That was the story he stuck with when Bossuet found it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had been going through Grantaire's rooms, with the latter sprawled on his bed and refusing to dress. "Let me lay here. If I faint, that is the way. If I don't wake up, that is the way. Let fate decide. I hadn't the need to dress for the occasion."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're not going to lay or faint there, because we're going," Bossuet said, digging through wrinkled and unfashionable pieces. It hadn't occurred to Grantaire what he would find, and the wine was settling nicely into his system. Surely, there was something that would make him appear presentable but not rebellious- what was one to wear to a riot? A protest, Enjolras called it, but Grantaire knew how it would turn out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What the hell is that?" Bossuet asked when his fingers found it. Grantaire groaned, sitting up slightly. Bossuet pulled the coat from its place and held it up to Grantaire, who immediately brought his hands to his eyes. "What horrible journey did this garment have to make to your closet?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I forgot I even had that," he said, which was half-true. "I bought it to ridicule Enjolras in, but I haven't had the occasion. I don't suppose you think that today's march for the worker's union is the proper time to give it use?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Grantaire, you do not put this much thought into ridiculing Enjolras. If you did, you would be much better at it. What inspired you to buy such a hideous thing?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So you think our leader dresses hideously?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No, but I think the moment a piece is draped across a wine-cask of a man, it becomes hideous."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It was all a joke- you would have laughed."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hardly."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Heartily."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Bossuet didn't mention it again, and Grantaire wore a brown vest to the protest, which he watched from a safe distance. Joly mentioned it once, earning a glare from Grantaire </span>
  <em>
    <span>who did not tell Bossuet he could tell anyone</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but the conversation was promptly adjusted to… well, he couldn't remember, but he would have remembered had it not changed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wore it in front of Enjolras once, and he knew he would never do so again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'll go to the Barriere du Maine," Grantaire had repeated, since Enjolras clearly didn't hear him (or simply believe him) the first time. "I can preach your idealistic Republicanism- God knows I've been listening to you hark it at us for long enough to grasp an understanding of the Social Contract. I've read Rousseau. I've sat in this cafe for months absorbing knowledge and thus, supposedly, power. Allow me the chance to prove myself, Saint Enjolras, just once."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Grantaire," he said, watching his words more carefully than he usually cared to. "You don't care about my idealistic Republicanism. Why would you volunteer yourself for such a… sobered task?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I don't care about your ideals, but I care about you, so don't make me withdraw my considerate offer."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Would you really do this for me?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I would do anything for you. I'd clean your boots, Apollo."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And to prove his loyalty, clouded by absinthe, Grantaire dashed to his rooms, conveniently located right next to the cafe. He dug briefly through his closet, but he knew exactly what he was looking for, and swung it around his arms before running back to the cafe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He earned a round of applause, a moment of laughter, and a few whoops and cheers. It was the attention he died to feel, getting drunker on the idea that other people found him valuable and interesting than on his previous drinks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What the hell are you wearing?" Enjolras said, lips flattening into a line as his forehead creased.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grantaire copied the expression, staring at him intently. "Red. The uniform of the revolutionary, Citizen."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Don't mock me."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's all I know how to do, Citizen."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Be serious, Grantaire, please." Enjolras found himself tired of Grantaire's jokes for the upteenth time, and rubbed at his temples.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I am wild," he said with a wolfish grin. "Trust me, just this once. I shall spread your message in your attire. You will be proud of me, just wait. You'll see." Clouded by the misjudgement of drink, Grantaire leaned close to Enjolras, steadying himself on the blond's shoulder and whispered in his ear, with drink on his breath, "Don't worry. Be easy."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Enjolras dismissed the society of his friends to pursue their tasks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Later that evening, after a rousing speech of his own, Enjolras found himself outside the Barriere du Maine, and decided it was best for the Republic if he peered inside for just a moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was easy enough to find the drunk companion, his coat the color of a fresh rose in a sea of grey and white, and it was easy enough to tell that intoxication flooded his cheeks until they matched the horrible coat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dominos lined up under his fingertips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Seven. You bitch."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Enjolras scoffed to himself, and left.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grantaire was the only one who ever figured out why Enjolras wore that coat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Protests turned to riots and barricades turned to martyrdom. Enjolras understood as soon as he picked up the cause, that it would be his downfall and he was certain that he did not want to inspire loss in his friends.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grantaire, God knows, was not his friend.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was the limp in his step, the smallest stumble, that gave the blonde away to the piercing green eyes that were watching him diligently. Grantaire knew his leader wasn't drunk- he knew the leader wouldn't let alcohol flood his system like that, even on a less important day. The sight sobered Grantaire up, however, who was drunk. He rose to his feet, and made his way over to Enjolras.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're pathetic," Grantaire said to him. "Come with me."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Enjolras held back a groan of pain, beginning to lean onto Grantaire for support. Under the coat, blood seeped through his white shirt, and Grantaire brought him to a private edge of the barricade where he could sit on a broken piano bench. The red coat still covered the stain. Enjolras did his best to grimace through the pain, desperately trying not to bring attention to himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You can't tell anyone," he said through clenched teeth, willing himself to stay together in one piece. The bullet had grazed him, maybe it was still possible for him to be saved, but more likely than not, he was already infected in some respect. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Is this why you have always adorned yourself with a scarlet covering?" Grantaire asked, hands reaching to move it away so he may see the skin and the blood underneath it. His jaw dropped when he realized how bad it was, but he was transfixed at the evidence that Enjolras was truly nothing more than a mortal man. "So that we may not see you bleed?"</span>
</p><p><span>"My darkest secret," Enjolras jested, straining to sit up. "What gave it away to you?"</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>"How could Dionysus notice Apollo's downfall?" Grantaire muttered to himself. "When Athena and Posidon stood unaware. Because Dionysus cannot keep his weary eyes off of you."</span></p><p>
  <span>"I don't understand."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I never expected you to." Grantaire mumbled, removing Enjolras' jacket. It was an intimate touch, and Enjolras allowed it to happen- besides, nobody was around to see his unfortunate truth of mortality. His undershirt was once a pure white, and now deeply stained amber. It was worse than it seemed, now that Grantaire was closer. He wouldn't dare to go further- it wasn't right, he didn't think, to idolize a man as he died.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Grantaire knew he was going to die.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The moment that Lamarque's passing was announced, Grantaire understood where the day would take them. The barricade would fall and Enjolras would be a corpse, unclaimed by his distant parents, someone in the Parisian streets. Grantaire only hoped he would be there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It hurt just as much as he thought it might.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Explain it to me- please. Why are you here, Grantaire? Surely a cynic such as yourself must know you're- </span>
  <em>
    <span>ah</span>
  </em>
  <span>, going to die." He winced at the pain as Grantaire balled up his jacket and tried to apply pressure- something Joly had taught him. "You can't be surprised that I'm going first."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No, you're not going anywhere," Grantaire found himself saying through tears. What was the point in holding back when his world, his life, his love was falling fast? There was no reason not to confess, not to believe now. "You can't. I haven't told you that I- that I love you yet."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You love me?" Enjolras said back, a smile almost dancing on his lips. The idea had never crossed his mind to be loved. That Grantaire was capable of such a thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Deeply, Enjolras." It was only fitting to call him by his name in his death. Not that Grantaire accepted that he was going to die. Not yet. It was a strange battle in his soul for his realistic grasp on the situation and the desire to never, ever let go of him. "Like nobody has ever dared to love before- for this exact fear."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He began to weep, as Enjolras began to still- life draining from bright eyes. His hands clung onto Grantaire's jacket, pulling him in, just to look at him. He had never seen Grantaire like this, and he wanted to drink up the moment. He did not have the time to conclude if he returned the affections but to see a man so cold be so full of light was lovely, and he was sure of that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Enjolras pulled him in, and Grantaire allowed him to control over his last moments. It was what he had always wanted, and Enjolras wanted to leave him with that memory, his lips pressed gently against the others, deliberate and soft.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a precious honor that Grantaire did not believe himself worthy of, but when Enjolras slipped back, there was nothing left to say. There was nothing left behind his eyes, devoid of life. Grantaire, with his undeserving hands, closed the other man's eyes and laid him back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grantaire wept, his head against Enjolras' neck- this is not how he wanted it. He never wanted any of it. He only wanted Enjolras.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And now he wanted nothing.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>anyway i will be writing more enjoltaire this month for nanowrimo and 90% of it is angsty. this was originally a joke of a prompt and then i made it sad because that's what i do! my twitter is winterwindsings and my tumblr is bareunloveliness. you can submit prompts in the comments or my tumblr inbox. i wanna write 50k words this month so any prompts will be greatly appreciated. also comments. love that shit. thanks!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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